But he recovered,
after being, as I heard, for a long time in a state of lethargy which
looked mortal.
It was when he was out again that I--and not only myself but
others--noticed for the first time that his character was changing. He
had always been a laughing, undecided sort of person; he had a facile
laugh for everything; he would meet you and begin laughing before there
was anything to laugh at. This was certainly harmless, and he had a
deserved reputation for good humor.
But his manners now became subject to strange fluctuations, which were
very objectionable while they lasted. He would be overtaken with fits of
sullenness in company; at times he was violent. He took to rambling in
strange places at night, and more than once he appeared at his office in
a very battered condition. It is difficult not to think that he provoked
the rows he got into himself. One good thing was that the impulses which
drove him to do such actions were violent rather than enduring; in fact,
I often thought that if the force and emotion of these bouts ever came
to last longer, he would be a very dangerous character. This was not
only my opinion; it was the opinion of a number of respectable people
who knew him as well as I did.
I recollect that one evening, as three or four of us were coming out of
a music hall, Barber offered some freedom to a lady which the gentleman
with her--a member of Parliament, I was told--thought fit to resent.
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